


The Same Wavelength (A Medic Story)

by Flowtonair



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: A more experienced merc this time around unlike the Sniper, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Character Study, Comraderie, Gen, Humour, No romance here!, Snippets of German, Team Fortress Sentience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 00:36:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14461260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowtonair/pseuds/Flowtonair
Summary: Over the course of several years, Medic had gotten to know one particular player.





	The Same Wavelength (A Medic Story)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to NoHomers48 for Beta-Reading, and for everyone who supported the Team Fortress Sentience collection and Erika_Rex for taking the first step! I wouldn't have done this without you.
> 
> Please enjoy~!

Over the course of several years, Medic had gotten to know one particular player.

It all started in a capture point map in a “pub” server.. Already battle-worn, the German had experienced most of what Team Fortress 2 had to offer. He had been a healing class, but also an offensive class when he came equipped with the Blutsauger and Ubersaw, and other weapons more suited to fighting. He had been a graceful aid in the war against the Machines, a miracle in pub servers and a major priority in competitive. He would proudly watch the progress of many a player who strove to be better at the Support class.

This of course meant that Medic had been thrown into almost every situation he could think of. From a successful Uber push into a choke point, to congaing and having fun in a custom-made community server, traversing through maps of other games, other worlds even, beyond Team Fortress 2, the doctor thought there wasn’t much else to experience.

It was rare, however, when he found himself on the same wavelength as his player.

He typically had separate thoughts from his players, especially when they did not communicate a single word on voice or text chat. He wondered what they thought, as they manoeuvred him into a good or bad situation. Medic had later taken to mentally lying back most times, knowing he would not get an answer.

On this particular day, Medic spawned into Gravel Pit with a flourish, not even minding that he was in the stock loadout.

 _“A new player?”_ Medic wondered. He closed his eyes to view their records. Mercenaries could do this – it just took careful weeks of experience in their coding. Quickly meddling around in his head, he effortlessly managed to find his player’s playtime for every character.

Just a few minutes of every character, with his count just beginning. Medic smiled to himself.

Thankfully, they seemed to know the basics. Medic fired up his medigun and began to heal the players in BLU spawn as they waited for the round to start. Two Soldiers rocket-jumped around, an Engineer began to work on some structures, a Scout repeatedly hitting an idle Demoknight with his obnoxiously loud Frying Pan… Medic could smell the good, classic round of TF2 coming up from a mile away.

Medic slowly drifted out of his thoughts as the muscles in his right arm began to ache. In their attempts to heal and overheal everybody, they kept rapidly clicking, making his arm move forward and back quickly to aim the medi-beam. His body also twisted and turned very fast and lightly, leading the doctor to reason that their mouse sensitivity was very high.

_“New to zhe genre still..”_

* * *

After several weeks of on-and-off games with his player in Gravel Pit, Medic’s player spoke their first words in game.

“WEEEE DID IT!!!” Her elated voice rang out through the battlefield, much to the surprise of the German. BLU team managed to win the game, but Medic focused more on what just happened rather than their victory.

When was the last time he heard someone speak while playing Medic, let alone celebrate a victory wholesomely?

Medic had silently observed his player’s gradual emergence into the text chat, leaving their helpful and positive messages in almost, if not perfect grammar and spelling. He liked their cute messages of encouragement, and enjoyed their (admittedly humorous) efforts to support their team.

He reasoned he would be hearing their voice a bit more.

Medic was later corrected – a LOT more.

* * *

There was only 2 minutes on the clock, and BLU had yet to capture the final point on the tower. Medic let himself quickly wipe the sweat from his brow as he exited spawn, heading towards Capture Point B. His medigun beam linked itself to a Demoman the German had just caught up to. They entered the choke point near the entrance to Capture Point C, and were faced near an opposing Soldier and Heavy. In the midst of the panic, his player urged the team on desperately.

“Let’s bum rush it!” The words barely escaped her lips before they died to the Soldier. Medic let out an exasperated but amused laugh at the slang, before dying to the Heavy’s minigun bullets.

“thats what she said” Some person on BLU wrote in the chat, dead.

“Let’s just capture it, come on!” She laughed over the microphone.

 _“Agreed, ein freundin.”_ Medic thought as he respawned, immediately working on charging an Uber as he exited their base.

The BLU team lost in the end, but Medic still took it as a bonded experience.

“Aww! Good game, good game.” His user wrote into chat. Medic admired their sportsmanship, and that they never blamed their teammates for a loss or death.

Medic realised he felt grateful for this player.

* * *

Another battle on Gravel Pit on the BLU team. Medic had quickly figured out that this seemed to be their favourite map to play on. However, today’s battle was one of Medic’s favourites with the user.

BLU had yet to fully capture Point B – just half captured. The German was running around the outside of the rickety shed housing the point, fending off the REDs as he and his player awaited a fellow BLU to help them.

 _“Scheisse--!”_ Medic’s gaze was directed to a RED Demoknight storming down the ramp, their sights directed solely on him and his player. Medic’s feet stumbled to backpedal, and his Blutsauger shook in his hands. He felt her shaking hand on the mouse, frantically trying to aim at the incoming danger.

The Demoknight charged towards them. He swerved a little before choosing to take a beeline towards the support class. His needle gun shot wildly, landing more and more shots as the Scotsman rushed closer. The Demoknight flooded his vision as the hit sounds of every needle hitting dinged faster and faster in between each one. Medic squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the impact of the Eyelander slicing his head clean off....!

But the sound of whooshing steel never came.

Medic felt the odd shudder in his hands as the ragdolled body of the Demoman fell through him, onto the dusty ground. Medic almost fell as his player stopped him from running backwards to look down in surprise.

It was their first shared kill.

His user made him look down, and then up and around. It was an action that said,

_“Did I just do that?” Did I really just do that?”_

_“Ja, you did,”_ Medic said mentally. _“Ja..”_

The duo went on to win the match with the rest of the BLUs.

* * *

His player’s gentle hands on the keyboard seemed nervous when they spawned into Steel, a labyrinth of a Five Capture Point map. Medic had memorised its layouts long ago, but he figured this was one of, if not the first time she had stepped into the map.

 _“Calm down, freundin.”_ Medic tried to reassure them, taking a deep breath. _“Just focus on your healing.”_

Although she could not hear him, she did what he suggested. It seemed completing her familiar role of running around healing her teammates calmed her down slightly, reminding her that everything was still the same. Medic let out an affirming hum before announcing,

“Ready to charge!”

* * *

Several deaths later, he was _not_ ready to charge. _Physically._ **Anywhere.**

Medic was walking. Walking around the cold, grey tunnels of Steel.

They had respawned and exited, trying to find out where the fight was so that they could do their job. But they took a wrong turn,

And then another,

And another.

They were lost.

 _“Schnell! Zhis vay!”_ Medic begged his player, as they continued to aimlessly walk the halls. _“Nein! Zhe other vay – zhis vay leads to Point A! Nobody iz here!”_

Medic almost wanted to thank the random F2P that was hanging around Point A and killed him. And when he respawned, he let out a relieved groan as his player followed another who had just respawned as well.

* * *

It had been months of silence from the user.

Medic at first wondered if other Medics were serving as her avatar, and that he just was not in the right place at the right time. But after weeks of meddling around more in his head while on an idle trade server, the German found a way to check Steam and find their profile. He was apprehensive about doing it – would somebody find out about the mercenaries’ sentience? It was meant to be a secret. Medic knew he was violating some rule set by the in-game mercs, but he wanted to know. 

…

She had not been active for a long, long time.

 _“Perhaps zhey’ve moved on.”_ Medic supposed, staring at their profile icon. The familiar picture, which he really only saw on the TF2 leaderboard… it reminded the German of their journey together. 

Medic closed out of Steam and exhaled deeply.

Why did he care so much about one user? Just one. There was countless others out there who enjoyed his class, who used voice chat, but why this particular one?

Maybe he should just forget about her. Like it was all a bad dream.

He knew his player was busy elsewhere, trading with someone on Steam. He put down his medigun and stretched, letting out a soft groan as he felt his bones drop. He rolled his shoulders and shook himself, trying his best to forget what he just did. Trying to forget that person.

But it was really difficult when there’s nothing for a merc to do in an idle trader server but think.

* * *

The Support class spawned into Thunder Mountain, and did not bother to check his player. Just his loadout and his cosmetics.

Syringe Gun. Quick-fix. Solemn Vow. On his head was a comfortable Well-Rounded Rifleman and he was fitted with a Vitals Vest. 

“Raus, raus!” Medic let out his battle-cry automatically. The round began like any other. Medic stormed out of RED spawn with the rest of his teammates, buffing them as they headed towards the BLU spawn. His arm moved back and forth quickly as he chased down members to heal them. 

It was not until the incessant yelling for a Medic that stirred him from his blank thoughts. Over the years, Medic had developed patience. Patience for new players, for deaths, and for people yelling a Medic.

Or was that another word for letting himself be mindlessly controlled while he retreated into the recesses of his mind?

However, today he _particularly_ wanted to be left to his thoughts while someone controlled his actions. Besides, is that not what he was meant to be doing? But he was about to make a petty remark in his head when someone beat him to it.

“Can you take your finger off of the ‘E’ key, please?!”

Medic’s eyes widened.

It was her.

All of their memories, positive and negative came flooding back to him as he continued to fight and heal. He eagerly listened for when she vocally thanked someone on voice chat, and swelled up with pride, even if she did switch classes during the round to help the team more. It seemed to him that their politeness— well, aside from that one Heavy asking for a Medic so much— and optimism had not gone away.

 _“Velcome back, freundin.”_ Medic beamed. _“Velcome back.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Please remember to leave a kudos, and perhaps a comment~!  
> The events told in this story were based off of some of my most memorable experiences playing as Medic.  
> I also wanted to try writing a more experienced sentient merc, unlike the baby Sniper we see in Snapped.  
> This is just the _one_ story! I'll be making more general ones in the future.


End file.
